To Father John, who is the first and most general linguist I ever met, she stands highly indebted; but to Nature, and her own ambition to excel, still more. I am now but six hours in this solitary and deserted mansion, where I feel as though I reigned the very king of desolation. Let me hear from you by return. Adieu. H. M LETTER XVII. TO J. D. ESQ., M. P. I forgot to mention to you in my last, that to my utter joy and surprise, our _premier_ here has been recalled. On the day of my return, he received a letter from his lord, desiring his immediate attendance in London, with all the rents he could collect; for I suppose the necessary expenditure requisite for my brother’s matrimonial establishment, will draw pretty largely on our family treasury. This change of things in our domestic politics has changed all my plans of operation. This arch spy being removed, obviates the necessity of my retreat to the Lodge. My establishment here consists only of two females, who scarcely speak a word of English; an old gardener, who possesses not one _entire sense_, and a groom, who, having nothing to do, I shall discharge: so that if I should find it my pleasure to return and remain any time at the castle of Inismore, I shall have no one here to watch my actions, or report them to my father. There is something Boeotian in this air. I can neither read, write, or think. Does not Locke assert, that the soul sometimes dozes? I frequently think I have been bit by a torpedo, or that I partake in some degree of the nature of the seven sleepers, and suffer a transient suspension of existence. What if this Glorvina has an _evil eye_, and has overlooked me? The witch haunts me, not only in my dreams, but when _I fancy myself_ at least, awake. A thousand times I think I hear the tones of her voice and harp. Does she feel my absence at the accustomed hour of tuition, the fire-side circle in the _Vengolf_ the twilight conversation, the noontide ramble?--Has my presence become a want to her? Am I missed, and missed with regret? It is scarcely vanity to say, _I am--I must be_. In a life of so much sameness, the most trivial incident, the most inconsequent character obtains in interest in a certain degree. One day I caught her weeping over a pet robin, which died on her bosom. She smiled, and endeavoured to hide her tears. “This is very silly I know,” said she, “but one must feel even the loss of a _bird_ that has been the _companion of one’s solitude!_”